A Baby Changes Everything

Sometime before the holiday season really started ramping up, I remember asking God to let me feel His presence in a meaningful way this year.  I didn't want to get so caught up (as I am apt to do) in the doing, the buying and the overall busyness that seems to accompany this season.  There have been moments of craziness, and maybe I am speaking too soon, but it feels like we are settling in for a nice peaceful Christmas time. I have to say I've felt God's hand in many ways this holiday season;  in a book, (Unbroken by Laura Hillenbrand - whole 'nother blog post entirely and a must read) in a sermon (go figure) and strangely, even in the trials of various friends and family (their incredible faith comes shining through).

As things come back around, in a way that I feel only God can orchestrate, we had the privilege of hearing a former pastor from the small country church I grew up in, speak at the church we are attending now.  I was curious to hear him speak simply because of that connection to Newkirk church. Even though I was rather young and not too interested in the whole sermon thing back then, I do remember him being an excellent speaker. He is a former football coach, so his delivery is a bit different than most preachers.  He - no let me rephrase that - God, did not disappoint.  He read from John 1 and spoke about darkness and how it is more something that is felt rather than actually seen. Our eyes may perceive darkness, but our souls feel it.  He talked about conflict and power and reconciliation.  He and his wife give tours of the Holy Land.  They have had a first hand look at a seemingly endless conflict and what it can do - or undo.  He made the point that in order for reconciliation to take place, two parties have to be on equal terms, or the one with the "power" needs to empty themselves in order to bring about peace.

Having heard the Christmas story any number of times in my life and even in the course of a Christmas season, it starts to just tinkle around in your head and sometimes never makes it to your heart.  Yes, Jesus was born in a manger, there were shepherds, wisemen and angels.  It all becomes a bit too rote. Why a baby?

Earlier in the same service a lovely woman in our church who has walked through the darkness of breast cancer, spoke about a time when her baby fell down the steps to their basement which they happened to be remodeling at the time.  All she could do was scream for her husband, and watch her child tumble down each and every hard, un-carpeted step, head first, and land with a thud on the hard pavement below.  He was okay, but what parent hasn't been there?  Stood there helpless with the possibility or the reality of their child being harmed.

She went on to wonder if that was how God felt.  Did his stomach and his heart lurch as He watched His beloved Son fall down the stairs of heaven to this dark earth to be hurt and even die?  By His choice, God emptied himself in the form of a helpless babe, to be on equal footing with us, with whom He wishes to be reconciled. Not ridiculous or improbable. Of course, it had to be a baby.

God gave us the most incredible gift.  It was not us seeking him. Crazy as it seems, He must have really taken a shine to those early morning walks in the garden with Adam and Eve and He wants us back.  He loves us, He really does.  I hope you feel that in a very real way this Christmas.

Perfect Pairings Proverbs 22:6

 Proverbs 22:6

Train up a child in the way he should go; even when he is old he will not depart from it.



Baby Bennet was baptized today - and what a wonderful day it was.  We have been blessed!

Perfect Pairings James 1:17

James 1:17

¹⁷Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.

My older brother and his lovely wife Michelle added another
Bennet to the world last Friday making me an especially pround auntie.  As far as God's gifts go, I can't think of anything more perfect than babies.  Baby Bennet is pretty perfect in our book.  Welcome to the world sweet boy!

Where Am I?

For a minute - well, make that about 30 - last night, I thought I was back in Tulsa.  We had one doozie of a storm.  I have always said that storms up here in Iowa are different than what I had experienced in T-town (does that "t" maybe stand for "tornado town"?).  They seem a little whimpier up here.  A little less violent.  Never quite had that intensity that one feels down South.  Well, I take that back.

Typically, the weather yesterday was hot and humid and then some.  The girls and I went for a bike ride (Hey! I got a new bike - more on that to follow) to the folks and came home just sopping wet with sweat.  We're talking a measly 5 blocks here folks and it looked like we had just completed RAGBRAI or something.  The evening news warned us about the bad weather to come and in retrospect, they had the time and place pretty much nailed.

So, about 10:30 or so the far off rumblings of thunder seemed to build.  I brought Maren to the basement to sleep down there with Marissa.  By 11:30 they had called the first tornado warning for our area, but it was east of here by a ways, so figured we were good on that one, but you could definitely feel the intensity of this storm.  It was non-stop cloud to ground lightning followed by quick and noisy cracks of thunder in succession.  I told the girls we could stay in Marissa's room unless the sirens went off or we heard the "train" coming.  I added this last bit jokingly to lighten the mood for both them and myself.  No sooner had those words been breathed from my lips than the sirens started.   I think I may have scarred them for life - if you went by the looks on their faces.

Off to the bathroom with the brick enclosed shower we went.  We sat on the floor with the lights flickering and our ears pitched for the train.  We prayed. Fervently.  Marissa actually suggested this.  I had been praying in my head all evening, but this was a good reminder for me to not only pray for my children, but with them.  I hate storms when the Captain is gone and tend to get a little uptight in time such as these. Not long after this the storm seemed to lose some of its oomph, but not before pouring out 5 inches of rain in those same thirty minutes I mentioned above.  Today at the hospital I heard they had a funnel cloud spotted just west between here and the next small town over, making good time, aim, and effort to hit the OC.

I'd like to think it was our fervent prayers that changed the course of this storm. Some may say, maybe. Some, maybe not. Some may say well, it was just a little storm, but these things do happen.  Just ask Mrs. E or the people of Parkersburg, Iowa.

 Parkersburg, Iowa  EF5 tornado 5-25-2008

 To me, it was a remarkable lesson in His faithfulness, protection and care, both for me and the girls.  I hope they remember that and not what a basketcase their momma was.  So along with your flashlight, your battery powered radio, your bottled water or whatever you need for your tornado preparedness kit, add a little fervent prayer - preferably by a nine and five year old.   It's a powerful thing.

The Sunset Hour

I can appreciate a good sunset.  Is there such thing as a bad one?  Granted, some days we don't see them as well as on others, but somewhere, sometime, someone in the world has to be enjoying a good sunset.  We have our share of them here in Iowa.  Not much to obstruct the view.  It is relatively easy and rather tempting to think you could just keep on driving west until you fall right into it. 

The thing I find utterly amazing about sunsets is that it is not a singular event.  Just when you think it is the prettiest one you have ever seen, the colors change and tweak a bit in a matter of minutes.  You change your mind,  reconsider and think again,  now, this has to be the best one ever.  It's like God is letting you know that He will not be outdone and He's got much more where that came from. 

We are more than likely experiencing the sunset hour of my Dad's life.  There are beautiful moments.  There are changeable moments.  There are times when we dread the dark night to come.  But in all this, I feel there is a gift - much like a sunset.  We have had our chances to tell him we love him, to thank him for a job well done.  I think we have come to a place where we are not rearranging deck chairs on a ship that is going down,  but we have circled them up and decided to sit back and enjoy the view. What a beautiful sunset it is...

And in all this we know that God's love and provision for us in this matter will not be outdone. For Dad, and for us all, there is so much more where that came from.

Spring Randomness

It's starting to feel a little bit like Spring around here.  Finally.  I LOVE it!  Have had lots to do and lots to see over the past week or so. 

By Jove, she's got it! After a little run-in with the church parking lot last summer, Princess Maren has been avidly avoiding the whole "no training wheels" thing, stating she would wait until she was six.  I figured what's the use, this child has a will bigger than the ocean, so we might as well not push her.  Daddy came home last Saturday and sweet talked her into it.  So here she is...

Coming....

and going....

...and the crowd goes wild.  Ahhhhhh!

Of course we had Easter this past weekend.  An early Easter in Iowa is not always a good thing, but it turned out to be a beautiful day.  We had some prep work to do though.  The Captain was home for the dyeing of the eggs.  Always a smashingly good time.

That's right, she's Daddy's girl in the sweetest way.

Christ IS risen.  He is risen INDEED. How amazing and how grateful I am for that cross.

Makes me feel like doing this. 

Love you Sweetie! And Happy Easter to you too!

Oh and by the way, my Dad is doing just great! Amazingly great! Here he is holding Lizzie.

Did you figure out what her shirt says?  That's right! I am going to be an auntie again! I am about as blessed as a girl can stand!  Hope you had a wonderful Easter with you and yours!

A Small (but Beautiful) World

I know.  Another post about the weather.  Really.  That's what happens when you live in Iowa.  There's not too much else going on besides the weather.  Actually, someone should slap me silly, because I honestly don't know if I am coming or going it has been so crazy busy around here. That's a whole 'nother post entirely.

But I am going to attribute the coming or going confusion to the fact that for the past week or so, we have had a lot of fog.  Dense fog.  Can't see your hand in front of your face fog.  Pea soup thick fog.  Wow, that's another area in which I am deficiently Dutch.  I have never made pea soup.  Give any good Dutch woman a ham hock and some peas and she will make you a pot of steamy pea soup.  Ewww.  Don't like pea soup, but to some in these parts, pea soup is a delicacy.

I digress.  So we have had all this pea soup - uh, fog.  I makes things sort of gray and dreary and I can feel all my Vitimin D just seeping out of me.  Sun? Wherefore are thou sun?  It sort of reminds me of the movie Narnia.  You keep waiting for the White Witch to come around the corner with her freaky sled and freakier hair. 

BUT, for all its dreariness, there is this.

Every little branch, every little left over leaf is a work of art.  Just simply beautiful.  And you know, only God can create this sort of wonder.

Once again, I wish I could take better pictures.  You are just going to have to believe me on this one.

Can't help but think of my high school art classes when I see this one.  Mrs. Kramer tried her darndest to teach us about perspective and that whole vanishing point thing.  I get it a little better now, but still not so much.

The Captain took these last two shots.  We both got home from work and had the exact same idea. We're weird like that sometimes. We both thought we had to get some pics of all God's handiwork around us.

The Captain has a fascination with our courthouse.  It is a pretty building, but I bet I could deck out a whole photo album dedicated to the Sioux County Courthouse.  I guess there are worse things to look at.

Silver linings.  I think God likes them.  He loves to give us a look at the bright side, if we are willing to see it.  I know many of us have had the whole tragedy of Haiti in our hearts and minds.  Hitting close to home, our former pastor and his wife have been in the process of adopting a little girl from Haiti.  She has been with them for quite some time on a medical visa.  The adoption has had its fair share of red tape and slowdowns, but things are moving along pretty quickly now.  I'll find whatever joy I can out of that situation. 

Tomorrow there is freezing rain, aka ice, in the forecast, and a weekend of snow and blowing snow.  Anybody got any Vitamin D?

Anyone?

An Unexpected Christmas

This wasn't the Christmas I had planned on.  In fact, I had really lowered my expectations, because I knew the Captain would be out flying.   Dad's health had definitely been on my mind and I really hoped he could be back home for Christmas. Mostly though, I wanted the girls to have a wonderful Christmas despite all that. 

Along comes what is being dubbed the Blizzard of 2009 and that pretty much seemed to snow in or sweep away the rest of our meager plans.  Christmas Eve Candlelight services at our church were cancelled - always one of my favorite Christmas traditions, and a long day spent with my parents didn't seem too practical in light of all the snow that kept falling and falling and falling. 

Instead, we had our own Christmas Eve service in front of our fireplace.  Each girl got to pick out a song to perform.  Marissa played "The Little Drummer Boy" on her viola.  Maren chose "O Little Town of Bethlehem" and we read a story about a boy stranded at an airport (appropriate, yes?) along with the Christmas story.  Then we sang "Silent Night" and passed around the candlelight.  The girls loved it.  Maren thinks we should do this every Christmas.  I agree.

Dad got home on Wednesday, about a half hour before the snow started falling.  He sat down in his chair with a big sigh and a look of contentment on his face.  There's no place like home and it was good to see him back there again.  Good to see him with a little smile on his face, watching all the craziness his grandchildren are so eager to provide.

I have really enjoyed the down time with the girls.  They have played so well together and it has been fun to actually spend some quality time with them.  Played a little, OK, ALOT of Wii, played in the snow, ate too much, and laughed ourselves senseless as we watched Harry frantically try to find the tiniest patch of grass in which to relieve himself.  Does not take much to entertain us. 

So all in all, it has been a good Christmas in many unexpected ways.  It has been relaxed and unhurried and this all due to circumstances beyond our control and our frantic planning.  It was better than expected.  I find that God does that a lot in my life. He is always better than I expect.  Merry Christmas to you!

Perspective

I got to sleep in my own warm bed last night. I had spent the previous two in Omaha, NE, in a hotel near the University of Nebraska Medical Center with my Dad who was transferred there last Monday.  After a questionable and abnormal CT scan, it was decided Dad's gall bladder and liver needed a little more looking into. Words like cancer, abscess and surgery were strewn about and we had to get things in order.

Glad to say that we got a "better" report yesterday.  No cancer, no surgery - just more antibiotics for a long, long, time.  Granted, Dad is still "a very sick man", but after having to take a look at the cold harsh alternatives, we can't help but feel like we eecked out another miracle.

Spending any amount of time at a rather large hospital gives you new perspective. No matter how bad you think you may have it, you don't have to look very far to realize there is someone who has it much worse.  What about the little boy having breakfast with his Dad, his little face all puffed up in response to all the steroids he must have been taking.  And the little girl with the feeding tube and oxygen getting a stroller ride with her brother from her nurse. What sort of  "treatments" have these little lives already had to endure? And Dad's roommate Willie, who had not one visitor the whole time we were there.  None. Zero. Zilch. Nada. He just moaned and groaned his days away - all by himself.

You find yourself abundantly thankful for odd things.  Like cell phone technology, fax machines, and the Internet.  For phlebotomists with steady hands and good aim named Gabriel (how apropos). For a room at the end of the hallway with two recliners being "stored" there, just outside Dad's door.  It was Mom and I's own little waiting room. We were grateful for nurses named Taylor who had the youth and endurance to work a near 24 hour shift in the middle of our first big blizzard of the season. We were thankful for the sun shining in all its frigid parhelial excellence the day after a longer day and night of howling wind and white out conditions. Thankful for the timing of the surgical and GI residents meeting in the elevator having apparently ignored the "siempre discretus" sign who were talking about "this really nice gentleman with primary sclerosing cholangitis" and how the wife of said "really nice gentleman" happened to be riding along in the back corner.  We had more questions answered in that short elevator ride than in the first 24 hours there.

And in the counting and recounting of Dad's colorful and varied medical history to the first, second and third year resident and finally the attending physician, we also noted God's stellar track record of faithfulness and provision over the past 28 years. I am a firm believer in a good prayer chain. I am a firm believer in HIM. So is that "really nice gentleman with primary sclerosing cholangitis" who may actually get to come home today.  Thank you Lord.  Thanks for putting in all into perspective. 

Downcast

Yesterday was my blog's one year birthday.  I was planning on writing a fun little post and maybe doing a little give-away of some sort.  If you read this blog and leave comments, you know your chances of winning would have been pretty good.  Like one in two, or at the most one in six.  Alas, this did not happen.

I have enjoyed my little blog over the past year.  Even if I had no faithful readers, or no sweet comment makers, I would still do it.   It has been a good blessing reminder, cheap therapy and a way to gather those memories I just don't want to forget, but know I would if left to my frantic mind. I like blogging.

So here I am blogging, sitting beside my Dad's hospital bed.  We have been here once already this fall. It all started with a diagnosis of H1N1. This sparked a flare-up with a chronic liver disease and septicemia, a long run with home IV antibiotics, with this all compounded by the end stages of Parkinson's disease.  Nothing is ever easy with Parkinson's.  I can't help but feel a little like David. My soul is downcast within me.

Since my Dad was forty four years old, his grasp on good health has always been a tenuous one.  What was thought to be a simple gallbladder flare-up turned out to be a diagnosis of primary sclerosing cholangitis, which means the bile ducts to Dad's liver are narrowing and hardening.  This can lead to infections and blockages and potentially a liver transplant.  Dad was on "The List" to receive one and actually got paged twice with a match, but he turned it down. Twice. At the time, he was feeling too good, had farming to do, and a family to raise. That is sort of the pendulum on which you swing with this disease.  When things are good, you're doing just fine.  When things are bad, well, it can be really bad.  Since the diagnosis of Parkinson's about 12 years back, he decided he no longer wanted to be an entry on "The List".  I can't say that I blame him.  Miracles that they are, organ transplants are still nothing to be taken lightly.

The first time my Dad was hospitalized, when I was 12 or 13 years old,  I  remember tentatively asking my Mom if Dad was going to die.  She honestly answered that she did not know.  From then on, that question has hovered in our house from time to time - always sneaking around and never quite leaving the premises. It became a room in our house with the door firmly shut, no one wanted to go there, but you would still press your face to the peephole to see if you could see anything inside. The only thing scarier than the known is the unknown, right?  What would it look like, how would it feel and when would we have to go in there?

In turn, I became a nurse, my older brother became a pharmacist, and Nate, the youngest keeps things balanced with his goofy humor and optimism.  Really, Dad has done remarkably well, all things considered.  We have a lot to be thankful for.  Dr. Zetterman, Dad's doctor, turned good friend, in Omaha always called Dad his miracle patient.  I think he is right.

So, here we are wondering.  Is it time? I only know that I will not have to go there by myself and for that I am grateful.  Like David, I need to finish the verse.

Why are you downcast, O my soul?

Why so disturbed within me?

Put your hope in God,

for I will yet praise him,

my Savior and my God. Psalm 42: 5-6

 

Did I mention this blog is good therapy?

Blessed

I am blessed in so many ways, it really is sort of ridiculous.  Sometimes blessings are obvious and sometimes blessings sneak up on you.  This one snuck up on me, but I am so thankful to have two women in my life that started out more formally as "co-mentors" but now are friends of my heart. I am blessed.

Back in our VP3 class last fall, we were threatened encouraged by Pastor Jon to find a mentor.  The whole group collectively squirmed in their seats, I think.  A mentor? You mean we might have to think of someone and then we might have to call them up and ask them to mentor us? And what if we want them to mentor us but they don't really want to be our mentor? Oh so uncomfortable for our conservative, just a bit straight laced, please don't ask me to step outside the box group.  So I procrastinated until the last minute prayerfully considered my options and asked one of the gals in the group if she had a mentor yet (like this, Idon'tknowifyouhavefoundanyoneyetbutwouldyoubemymentor).  She said she and another gal in the group were going to start meeting, but they wouldn't be opposed to another person joining them. Phew. 

Our first meeting was definitely a "God-Thing".  We were blown away by how similar some of the things we were dealing with in our lives were and how it all seemed so connected.  I think there were a few tears, lots of laughing and just a general feeling that "normal" comes in many different shades and we were still somewhere on the spectrum.

We are a bit of an oddly grouped trio on the surface.  One of us is very driven, highly organized, and coordinates all of our meetings.  Date. Time. E-mail confirmation. That sort of thing. But under all that flows great integrity and compassion. (Hint, hint: That would not be me.) One of us is passionate in all things.  She is a giver.  She will go the extra mile and then some and when she loves she loves all the way.  One of us is a frazzled, overweight, scatterbrain who often interjects innapropriate comments into the conversation and has issues with self esteem. (cough, cough).

Our VP3 class is long finished, but yet we continue to meet every other week or so, barring sick kids or work obligations.  As I was backing the van out of the driveway after our last meeting, I teared up a bit.  I am so grateful for these women in my life.  I am so thankful that God obviously has a better (and often more organized) plan than I do.  I hope you have some of these friends of the heart in your life too.

Blessed, I tell you, completely blessed.

Sit. Stay. Good Doggies.

I did a crazy thing. I told Shelly "yes" after some hemmin' and hawin' and maybe a little internal whining. I am an official volunteer in Potter's Workshop, the 3rd-5th grade kids program at our church. We counted 55 sweaty little energetic bodies in attendance this past week. Take a big whiff.... ahh yes, eau de pre-adolescents.

I'll back up a bit. Shelly actually wondered if the Captain would help and he said, "YES" and then looked at his schedule and flew off to Washington DC. Every Wednesday night in October. So our "shared" responsibility seems to have been deferred to the IAPilotWife. See, last year we had our VP3 class on Wednesday nights and as wonderful as it was, I was just ready to chill on Wednesday nights. Secretly though, I think the Captain knows what's good for me. Don't tell him I said that.

Because secretly, I love it! More than I thought I would. Although, sometimes I am a bit overwhelmed with the crowd control of my little group. Any suggestions on how to keep 15 kids quiet and paying attention for 30 minutes? Duct tape? Doses of Benadryl doled out at the door? I am seriously thinking about buying a dog clicker and throwing them liver treats if they could only roll-over be quiet for a few minutes straight. And maybe if a put my hair up in a bun and cut myself some bangs and wore all black and spoke with an English accent they would do much better too.

Actually, it does my heart good to hear them do their memory work, to praise God with their voices and to maybe have a few lightbulb moments. All that energy and enthusiasm is contagious. The last two weeks, we talked about being wise. The next two weeks our topic is individuality. Should be fun.

Seriously, suggestions on crowd control? I am open to anything. Well, probably not the drugs or the duct tape.

Of Sunsets and Cameras and Birthday Parties

Marissa celebrated her 9th birthday with two of her good friends out in the tube on Lake Okoboji. The giggle factor was off the charts, the screams in the upper octaves (especially when slung outside the wake by the Captain) and great fun was had by all. As they say at Okoboji "In God We Trust, Everyone Else - Cash." I don't know what that really has to do with anything, but I always laugh when I see it, and you tend to see it a lot when you are up at the lakes.

I think the story somewhat loosely goes - two brothers started a retail store - well maybe it was three, because the name of the store is The Three Sons- in the Iowa Great Lakes area, and someone came up with the idea of a fictional University to sell some college type apparel. No university or college in the area, so they just made one up. Way back in 1878. Maybe. Actually am in BS mode and don't really know what I am talking about, but they have milked that idea for all it is worth. There is an entrance exam, winter games, numerous bike rides, marathons, and various other activities around the area that are all sponsored by the fictional University of Okoboji. Creative marketing I would say. Great logo and slogan too.

So yes, I digress, again. We had a great day. Good weather, not too many boats on the lake, and the girls had a ball. I would post pictures of the lake activities, but I forgot the camera back up and the cabin and remembered it just as I was stepping into the boat. I have been longing for a new camera, but don't think I am responsible enough to have one. I ALWAYS forget the silly thing, just when I want it the most. If we did get a new one, I would have to permanently velcro it to my chest or eyeball, either one. I know I missed tons of great shots out on the boat. Like when the girls would swing to the edge of the wake and their eyes would get all saucer big, or when the Captain's hat took its annual dip in the lake and Marissa had to go retrieve it - again. Or what about that one where we took off without bringing the anchor in? That was a classic. Anyway, here's one of the girls in the van that will have to suffice.

On the drive home I was feeling unworthy of having a brand spanking new camera, until we saw this...

and this...

and this.

I wanted one really bad! By this time I was hanging out the passenger window swallowing a firefly or two, trying to get a good shot while the Captain was yelling photography tips at me. "Aperture? What is Aperture?" GULP. Lake Okoboji is just a bit north and mostly east of here, so on the way home, you drive straight west, Young Man. This is usually annoying and somewhat dangerous since you can't see a blooming thing, but what I wouldn't have given for a decent camera velcroed (velcrowed?) to my eyeball that night. This sunset just would not give up. It kept going and going and going. It was a lovely and perfect ending to a perfect day.

In God I trust, but could I please get a new camera?

So Now What?

I hate those days in church when you get all challenged as a Christian and stuff. When you are left squirming in your seat and sort of sulk from the pew after the benediction is said. It was one of THOSE Sundays for me yesterday.

Our pastor introduced us to a nice, healthy, normal-looking 50-something couple, who should be looking to live out their golden years together. The kids are gone, they have some retirement money saved up - the American Dream, right? But, crazy thing is they have uprooted their life, moved from a nice Chicago suburb to lend their gifts and talents to a growing ministry called To Every Tribe, that equips missionaries and church plants. To quote Margie, she said, "I did not want to shine my light for Christ in a room full of light."

So, for me that was a light bulb moment that I wanted to turn off real quick. I immediately sensed the futility of shining a light in a lit room. Woudn't a light be more effective and so much more needed in a dark room? AND if God is calling this nice normal couple into this ministry, what if He does that to me, to us, to our family, what then? It's like a disease you don't want to catch. Just being honest here, people. What if He asks us to give up our comfortable life here that we have worked so hard for and asks us to run off to Africa or something? Oh my. I can feel the panic rising in my chest.

Let's just play it out for a moment. The Captain is, well, a Captain. He would love to land a little airplane onto some grass strip with a really short runway out in the middle of nowhere. He likes that sort of thing. IA Nurse. We might have something to offer in a "missional" type of way. (I don't even want to say the M-word). I have never even been on a mission trip, but I read things in my nursing magazines about health care, or the lack thereof, in the Dominican Republic or countries in Africa and it makes my heart hurt - in a very practical sense. I think maybe I could help a little bit somehow. And if you can help people in that way, maybe you could slip in a good word about Jesus and how He could really help them too. But then I think about snakes and I change my mind. I am so shallow and naive, I know. It still hurts though.

I don't know what it is. Maybe I am somewhat disillusioned with the so-called "American Dream". Pastor Jon also related a quote from Gordon MacDonald in his book, A Resilient Life "One of the saddest experiences is to awaken at old age and discover that one has been using only a small portion of self." That almost makes me panic more. Maybe it's a seed to be nurtured for now. Who knows?

By the way, Ron and Margie are looking for 200 people willing to give $10 a month to help support them in their work with To Every Tribe. Just FYI.

Why?

The wind was strong. The door was stuck... and then it wasn't. It all happened so fast. In a split second that no one saw...until hours later. Definitely an accident that would fall into the category of freak.

The heavy beat beat of the helicopter blades brings a chill to your bones, even on a 90 degree day. You hope and pray it is no one that you know. But it is, as it so often goes in a small town.

The question was discussed, probably in a cramped room without windows, in the presence of cold, vinyl, antimicrobial furniture and commercial grade carpet as witnesses. Hang on, or let go. Sometimes you just have to let go. A boy, now a man, no longer has a mother. Grandchildren have lost a Grandma, and a husband no longer has a wife. An entire family has lost...Her.

Sometimes I just don't get it. Would it have mattered that much to let someone live a few more days, months, years. Surely there must have been a better candidate out there. Why?

Starkly, you realize there is not that much difference between that family and yours. Death, such as this, has no vaccine, no remedy, no treatment, no preventative measures to be taken. You get home and stare at your children, committing their faces in this moment to memory - for what if there is not another? You notice their shoes scattered at the doorway and pray their fat warm healthy toes will always fill them as long as you draw breath. You wish your husband was home.

I know. I know. "His ways are not our ways, His thoughts are not our thoughts", but that still leaves us swimming in a murky pool of gray, feeling our way through. We reach for the tattered ropes of our lives and vainly try to tie them nicely back together. We try to solve the equation and realize that faith does not equal knowledge or a life here on earth without despair. We can only pray that somehow faith will add up to hope and possibly someday to that peace that passes understanding.

All Things Beautiful

Did I say I snickered a bit and secretly laughed at my relatives because they got snow last weekend and we didn't? Well, you know what they say about paybacks. Yup, woke up to a winter wonderland this morning on April 5. What is up with that? Oh you say you live in NW Iowa - well that explains everything...

I really could not build up too much resentment and loathing toward the snow. Believe me, I tried. I have been thirsting, yea no, both thirsting and hungering, for Spring since September. But, it was absolutely beautiful. The girls and I oooed and ahhed our way to church this morning - each tree and bush just a bit more majestic than the next. Since it snowed, of course the Captain was gone, and therefore, our driveway remains and shall remain un-shoveled. I wish he had been here to see it though and yes, shovel it too, if I must be honest.

What struck me is that God can and will find a way to make all things beautiful. Blizzards in April on the surface should not be beautiful - but it was. Take my poor hydrangea bush that got buried in our first snow storm and remained freeze-dried under a snowdrift up until about a month ago. The sum of its parts look a bit shall we say "frazzled" for the experience - this not helped of course by this really bad and out of focus picture.

But if you look closer the bloom is still gorgeous. I love the antiquey looking paper thin quality of a dried hydrangea. How clever is God to think of that? In late summer and early fall, the hydrangeas around town are in full bloom and nearly falling all over themselves with the weight of their beauty. They are, as Maren might say, "beautifulerest". It might be argued that they are at the height of their beauty, the very best they can be. I personally might disagree.

I take comfort in knowing that when I am surely not at my most beautiful, my most talented (and I have been feeling that way a lot lately) - even when I am possibly the farthest removed from the person God created me to be - God will use me and somehow still make all things beautiful.

The Oldies but Goodies...

Lately my ears have been inundated with the sounds of old hymns. As I was driving to the dentist, the radio was playing an updated version of "Come Thou Fount". We sang "All Creatures of Our God and King" in church a couple weeks ago, and Pastor Jon noted in his weekly e-mail message how meaningful "When I Survey the Wondrous Cross" was to him.

I have a soft spot for these old hymns. Not that I don't enjoy contemporary praise and worship music, because I really do. I just hope we don't forget about these beautiful old hymns. Seems they have gone the way of the stodgy and the outdated.

I grew up attending a really small country church - maybe 80 to 100 members on a good Sunday. We sang out of an old green hymnal that I would share with my mom or dad or my brothers if the situation was really dire. But for some reason God blessed that church with some incredible musicians. We had excellent vocalists, talented pianists and organists, and we even had a lady who played the accordion - beautifully (is that an oxymoron?). Sometimes both my ears and my heart ache to hear the four part harmonies of my old country church. It is not Googleable - I tried.

I distinctly remember singing "Wonderful Grace of Jesus". Accompanied by both the piano and organ, the melody starts out pretty slow, but then builds to a rollicking chorus with the bass line rumbling underneath the tinkling sopranos. Tenor and alto (I sing alto - always and forever the middle child) neatly filling their niche somewhere in the middle. The song ended with Pam G landing firmly and with great conviction smack dab in the center of the high G (that's the one above the high E and F) to round out the final chord. She hit it every time. We would raise the roof on that small country church, sister, like no one's business. God's grace should illicit that sort of "High G "response, I think.

I also remember singing "O Sacred Head Now Wounded" at a Maunday Thursday service during a spectacular spring thunderstorm. Let's just say it left an impression.

Old hymns are poets. The Sunday we sang "All Creatures of Our God and King", was a gorgeous one here in NW Iowa. As I was doing dishes and looking out my open kitchen window it was impossible not to notice that "the lights of evening" had indeed found their voice and were praising God with abandon. After a somewhat trying week for me, the words in bold that reached my ears on the way to the dentist this morning from "Come Thou Fount" were "prone to wander, Lord I feel it, prone to leave the God I love." I had to bow my head in shame right out there in the parking lot.

I play (kinda) the piano (very badly) on occasion and I like to pull out the old green hymnal we used to sing out of at Newkirk Church. They gave them away for a small donation when the new ones were purchased. The binding is broken and ripped, the pages are falling out and the Captain almost chucked it on our last move. I find it therapeutic to pound out the chords of an old hymn (much to the dismay of our neighbors, I am sure). But it comforts me, mistakes and all, and brings me back to a time when things were much simpler, and my faith was young and new without so much reason and tarnish. And as a hymn said it best, it is well with my soul. What's your favorite hymn? Consider yourself tagged.

Come thou fount of every blessing

Tune my heart to sing thy grace

Streams of mercy never ceasing

Call for songs of loudest praise

Teach me some melodious sonnet

Sung by flaming tongues above

Praise the mount I'm fixed upon it

Mount of thy redeeming love

Here I raise my Ebenezer

Hither by thy help I come

And I hope by thy good pleasure

Safely to arrive at home

Jesus sought me when a stranger

Wondering from the fold of God

He, to rescue me from danger

Interposed His precious blood.

O to grace how great a debtor

Daily I'm constrained to be!

Let thy goodness like a fetter,

Bind my wandering heart to thee

Prone to wander Lord I feel it,

Prone to leave the God I love

Here's my heart, O take and seal it,

Seal it for thy courts above!

PTC's, Carnivals, Duraceramic, and Third Day (in no particular order)

WHEW! What a WEEKEND! We managed to get in a concert, laid some Duraceramic tile, babysat my niece AND played lots of Mario Kart. I think we took the magical whirlwind tour - all on one less hour of sleep.

The Captain got home Thursday just in time to help out at Sweet Marissa's 3rd Grade Carnival at school. He was the head Twister man. Not sure who had more fun Marissa or the Captain. The original plan was for me to go after my cardiology Lunch and Learn which ran way late, but the Captain swooped in to save the day. Lessons learned in adaptability.

No school for Big M on Friday so it was hang out with Daddy day. We had parent teachers conferences this week and we heard a glowing report from Big M's teacher. What a difference a year can make. IA Pilot Mom had to work on Friday, but got much accomplished. So I couldn't feel too bad about not being home with the fam.

Then it was off to see Third Day in concert!! This was Big M's first live music concert, and we were a little concerned about the noise, but knew it would be a great show, so really wanted to try it out on her. Let's just say she Loved it. With a big L.

Third Day is a contemporary Christian group with a decided southern rock (yes, they used a cowbell) edge. The Captain and I are mucho fans, (the Captain more so than myself) so to have them be as close as an hour away seemed like an opportunity that should not be missed. Mac Powell, their lead singer, has this voice that seems to rise up out of his toes, rumbles around in his chest, and falls out of his mouth and resonates in everyone listening with sincerity and passion for God. He's kind of a skinny, full goatee wearing dude, so it's a bit surprising that such a big voice comes out of slightly scrawny him.

Revive, a relatively new group from Australia, opened the concert and they were great! Marissa was hooked and all giggles when the lead singer asked us all to get off our butts and out of our seats. Bathroom anatomy humor goes a long way with my child. It did sound pretty good in an Australian accent. Revive was followed by Brandon Heath. He was great too! Very acoustical and soulful with a lot of emotional content tied into his songs. He will definitely find a home in my iPod.


Then it was Third Day. They gave a great concert! Song after song was familiar and seemed better than the one before. The Captain loved every minute of it and has definitely passed on his live music loving gene to his oldest daughter. See, the Captain is a high clapper. Got his hands over his head, sometimes one hand, sometimes two, usually a whoot whoot and singing at the tip top of his lungs. I am a low clapper, hands out in front, not much above chest level, maybe a slight booty shake every now and then and I try to harmonize. Must be that reserved NW Iowa upbringing. Marissa is a high clapping, booty shaking fool!!! Lots of fun to watch her though!

Probably the best part of the evening was when our close to the worst seats in the house turned into the best seats in the house. Mac Powell left the stage for what we all thought was a well deserved break, but then showed up in the back of the arena and threw an impromptu acoustic party for about 50 up close and personal fans. Marissa was off like a shot and got a within arms length seat for a really nice set of their old and familiar songs. No fear, no second thoughts, just a plan to enjoy the evening for all it was worth. I really like that about my girl.

I hope it left an impression on her. That our God deserves and loves to be greatly praised. It was a wonderful night.

King of Glory - Third Day

Who is this King of Glory that pursues me with his love

And haunts me with each hearing of His softly spoken words

My conscience, a reminder of forgiveness that I need

Who is this King of Glory who offers it to me

Who is this King of angels, O blessed Prince of Peace

Revealing things of Heaven and all its mysteries

My spirit's ever longing for His grace in which to stand

Who's this King of glory, Son of God and son of man

His name is Jesus, precious Jesus

The Lord Almighty, the King of my heart

The King of glory

Who is this King of Glory with strength and majesty

And wisdom beyond measure, the gracious King of kings

the Lord of Earth and Heaven, the Creator of all things

Who is this King of Glory, He's everything to me

The Lord of Earth and Heaven, the Creator of all things

He is the King of glory, He's everything to me

Sun Dogs

"Mom, why are there three suns today- two little suns and then the big one?" That was the topic of conversation that needed explanation as I was dropping off Princess Maren at "pretty school" (preschool) this morning. She had spotted the Sun Dogs who had come out to play with their Master Sun on this crispy, frigidly clear Iowa morning. If you haven't ever seen one, they are these little mini rainbows on either side of the sun- evenly spaced, sometimes connected by a perfect halo - a beautiful triptych illusion.

Naturally, I had to look it up on the Internet. Wikipedia had some fun explanations. Their scientific moniker is parhelia (singular), parhelion (plural). I have to say I have never seen just one Sun Dog (parhelia). They always seem to come in pairs here in Iowa. I find that comforting. I also find comfort in their rainbow colors - God's promise to us Iowans that surely winter WILL soon end.

Parhelion - they are the Sun's loyal companions. Sun's Best Friend(s). Go fetch us some warmer weather would you? Good Boy(s)!

Free and Easy Down the Road I Go....

I woke up with this Dierks Bentley song in my head. (Yes, God can even use a country western song to remind you of His blessings.) I do have a free and easy spirit this morning. Princess Maren is on good morning behavior, day three, and therefore has earned a brand new bottle of nail polish that she gets to pick out and then gets a free mani-pedi by mommy tonight. Sweet Marissa is MAW in the Pecos Bill play they are acting out in school and left with lines memorized, prairie bonnet intact and she is in her element. A little imagination goes a long way for her. And most importantly, the Captain is home.

I have mentioned in a previous post that the Captain and I are taking a class at church titled VP3 (sounds a bit like a surgical procedure to my nursing ears) but last night I had to give my narrative or testimony to three of God's beautiful women in our class. This exercise all started with yellow and pink post-it notes stuck on a poster board. The post-it notes stood for critical incidents in your life - yellow was positive - pink was negative. Seemed like I was slapping down a bunch of pink ones especially in certain areas in my life. This activity then translated into writing a full length narrative about your life and how God has been at work.

I have worked on this semi-diligently over the Christmas holiday. It has been hard, besides the fact that I felt I was back at college working on my senior nursing research paper, but dredging up some of the pink events in my life was really tough. The actual reading of it went well, although I was nervous, and I used up all Pastor Jon's kleenex on his desk. The women that God had placed in my group were there for a reason and there was not one note of judgment or condescension - just love and acceptance. I left with a lightness and God's peace in my soul ... free and easy down the road I go.


As Sam was praying over me last night, she thanked God for my story - that really is His story... and that is so true. We should write it and we should tell it. We are His song and we should sing it. How else will the world know about our Great God?

I am using this verse from Annie's blog and hope she doesn't mind, but it sums up my VP3 experience quite nicely. So sing your song to Him, about Him, for Him today even if it does have a slight country western twang to it. YEE HAW!